War
by Elz Durden
Summary: A honeymoon in Italy draws a very exceptional man to the attention of a very old family.
1. Honeymoon

A/N – This plot bunny wouldn't leave me alone. It's a one shot right now but if it's popular, I got a whole story planned out for it.

This takes place in Rose's world, where it turns out, vampires are real. The characters are not mine but the story line is.

Enjoy and review if you liked it.

~.~

_Because I could not stop for Death_

_He kindly stopped for me_

_Emily Dickinson_

The pain catches him in the chest and sends him crumpling to the ground.

At first, he thinks he's been hit by a baseball bat but knows better because the pain doesn't fade, it bites deeper and rips things that are much needed. His insides are burning. It doesn't let up, taking the breath from him. He's dazed and grasping and he can't decide what hurts worse, all of his nerves going haywire or trying to regain his breath with only one heart beating.

But he's always had one heart, he reminds himself.

The footsteps approach. One set, one pair. Light and delicate, a child's soft pace that comes closer and closer until a pair of black dress shoes skirt the corner of his vision. Seconds later, a face, so beautiful, so angelic and pleasing that he feels the human part of him calming down. The time lord part knows better – has always known better. He's faced angels before. Always beautiful, always lovely, always ends badly.

He wants to move. Needs to actually and it's very apparent that even his impressive mental wards aren't going to be able to cast off the burning pain that rakes his body. Even so, it takes more to stop his tongue from working. He thinks he's asking her what she wants from him – everybody always wants something after all – but he isn't sure the words are forming. Either way, the angel doesn't answer. Not that he expected her to.

"Jane." Another voice calls to her, another pair of perfect, black dress shoes, about the same size, stop near the first set. The angel leaves his line of sight, the alley is dark and pieces of trash shift around in the late night air. Not for the first time, he feels the limits of his human body and sorely misses the clarity and strength that he supposes was never really his.

There are more voices now, speaking in soft tones that hardly carry. Could be the wind but he knows better. His mind is reeling in how quickly it's all happening. Oh sure, the last year has been eventful by most measure, down right relaxing compared to his usual fair. Less than two hours ago, he and Rose had been at a cafe. No hint that the night would end this way.

Hands grab him, roughly lifting him off the ground and brings his focus, as is it, back to the present. Wedged between two large men in dark cloaks, he catches sight of the angel named Jane standing by a boy that in all ways looks to be a male version of her. Same petite build, same haunting red eyes.

"Not human." He mutters, thickly. "Not alien – what are you?" He's fairly sure that part he spoke out loud because a sharp shake from one of his captors forces him silent again.

A look of contempt and maybe smugness crosses Jane's face and he decides she's looking less angelic with each passing second.

"Bring him." She commands in sharp tones, leaving the alley in a blur of motion, the dark cape she wears flying out behind her. It reminds him of the coat he misses and yes, he knows all too well it's possible to miss what was never yours.

He's carried limply away, moving from alley to alley, always in the shadows, always a fraction faster than human eyes could follow. In less time than his entire capture had taken, he finds himself being carried down a vast, dark corridor. It's an old place, a place forgotten by time, despite the electric lights that cast down their weak glow. He can feel it in his bones, can taste the history. Something remains of what had once been the vast senses of a time lord and as they drag him along, he can hear the stones singing with history.

And violence.

The throne room is immense; the marble of it's walls screams it's age at him on all sides. History here is bleeding in to the now and it's all old, oh yes, so old. The three dark thrones in the center look out of place in all that cream white.

His head is clearing, whatever they did to him is fading. Which means they don't think he's a treat. Mentally, he counts all the dark cloaks shifting around the room and he knows they're right in that assumption.

The escort drops him to the ground near the foot of the dais. Straightening himself, he fixes the collar of his jacket and meets the court as best he can from his position on the floor. Three men, if they can be called that, all wearing elegant dress, all pale skinned and imposing, sit in silence, watching him, watching them.

The blond looks cruel and the middle one looks insane.

The one to his left looks to be his best bet. He looks bored, unconcerned, half caring about the strange man that has literally been dropped in their company. There is a sadness to him, a loss so deep it has become part of him, as real and sustaining as the marrow in his bones. If he can talk to him, there's hope. Convince him he's a tourist, wrong place, wrong time, act a little dense, little Western maybe – pass it off as the best theater he's ever seen and maybe, he can be back to Rose in time to watch the sunrise.

That hope is utterly dashed when the one in the middle, the one that looks at him with a cheery smile, with humor in his eyes. "My my, what ever do we have here?"

"I make it a habit not to never answer rhetorical questions." He answers from the floor. "Or at least now I do. Demand from my wife, really."

"It talks." Comments the blond one and those two simple words convince him he never, ever, wants to be in a room alone with him. By no means should he engage in conversation with that one, and yet...

"It does more than talk." He retorts, meeting the angry stare straight on. "Who are you? Who are any of you?" He calls around him to the larger group in the room, standing to his full height and trying to look like a man that should always be listened to, trusted, feared even. "Snatching people from the streets, terrorizing them. What right have you? I demand to be returned immediately." The last word is drawn out with as much command as he can force in to five syllables. When no one answers, he licks his lips with a wistful smile. "Always worked for him, you know."

"Enough! Aro, do it. If I have to hear much more of it, I'll silence it for good."

Aro, the one from the middle, the one that looks him over like a child appraising a toy that he simply must have, walks over from the dais and lightly places his hand on the shoulder of his captive.

With that simple touch, the Doctor's fate is sealed.

A look of surprise boarding ecstasy crosses Aros face. A second later, he finds himself embraced in the strong arms of Aro, the mans mouth resting against his ear. "Oh yes." The coying voice whispers. "Oh you are amazing, I knew it as soon as the Guards saw you in the square. The lives you've lived, what you truly are, captured there in that decaying flesh... You see, a war is coming. No one else sees it, oh but I do. So clearly do I see it. Every human I touch, every time I look at their pathetic, short lived lives, so full of panic and fear, I see it. In every car that passes and in every advancement they make – I. See. It."

Aro releases the man from his arms, and the Doctor goes stumbling back. "What are you?" He demands again, voice soft and urging but is quickly replaced by another demand as Aro signals to a Guard that walks towards him, silently.

"Don't do this." He pleads, warning. "Do not." He begins back peddling, away from the advancing figure, cloaked in black and menacing. "You can't –"

"I can." Corrects Aro, sitting back on his throne. "A war is coming and we simply cannot afford not to have you on our side."

The words echo up, mixing with the screams.

He knew, they never ever, should have gone on their honeymoon in Italy.

~.~

"Mum!" The voice is frantic, full of anger and tears unshed. "Please, please pick up!" Inside a phone booth, ignoring the irony, the young woman screams her frustration as the rings roll to the machine. The voice of Tony and her mum cheerfully offering her to leave a message. The chime sounds in her ear and for a second, it's all too much. No words come. The phone slips from her fingers and she slides down the side of the booth. Echoing over and over in her mind.

_They've taken him._


	2. Chapter 2

A/N so this isn't a one shot anymore. Some plot bunnies won't let go. Thank you for the reviews and the alerts. As everyone knows, it's reviews that make the world go round. Feel free to send me suggestions/advice. This is one of the few stories I don't have entirely planned out and would love feedback. As usual, this is un-betaed.

I don't own anything.

~.~

The room is sparse, no furniture, no windows - only a span of tiled floor and flawless marble walls, lit by dim in set lights.

The door to the hallway is locked from the outside and made from steel several hands thick. Even if he wasn't dying, even if he had his sonic screw driver, which was never his, there would be no way to open that door.

The Doctor is well aware of how long he's been held away in this room. Forty seven minutes. Forty seven minutes of agony while every cell in his body changes. His sense of time has not been diminished, not when he became human or... Or whatever it was they were doing to him now.

Fifty-two minutes later the door opens.

Three, maybe three and a half minutes after that, the Doctor comes back to awareness, startled that he can't remember blacking out.

There's a woman sitting in front of him now, on the most remarkable hand crafted chair. Late eighteenth century Orient, he guesses, deeply carved, highly polished, beautiful and the fact he's mesmerized by the chair and not the woman who has been speaking to him says a lot about his state of mind.

Her red eyes are watching him expectantly, waiting for an answer.

It takes four tries to unclench his sore jaw and another three to stop the screams that see their chance and escape from his throat.

When he comes to again, he's being held by strong hands. The chair and the woman are gone. He knows it's been three hours the way he knows where his left arm is and urgently, he digs in to his vast reserves of will power.

'Please.' Which is all he can offer for the next eight minutes. It must have encouraged his captors because the door opens again and the woman is back, escorted by a large guard in a dusty robe who is carrying that lovely chair.

~.~

Chelsea watches the odd, tall man whimper as Felix half carries him towards her again. His emotions are a muddled mess, like a length of thread riddled with sticks and tangles.

He meets her gaze and mentally she starts the task of sorting through the grid of his mental ties. It's not possible to gain more than a glimpse but Aro has insisted she start early on this one. His loyalties must be rewritten, starting on the most base level. Gradually, over the next three days, Chelsea will give him all the attention she can spare. By the time he turns in less than three days, he'll never want to leave the family. Not that he ever could have.

It's a boring, tedious task. Who was in he love with? What things does he care for? What idiotic pastimes filled his petty, human days? Snip it away, switch it around, reattach. The bonds remain but attached to new things, new faces that are achingly familiar. Rewriting thought and emotion to create a loyal, willing, servant to the Voltri.

Felix tenses as the captive crawls closer to her. The human is shaking and crying from the pain. His scent is pure agony and adrenaline sheltie can smell his human body dying as the venom changes him in to something better.

Having Felix with her is almost annoying. The human before her is less of a threat than the chair she's sitting in and Felix is so damn excitable. He's likely to rip the man's throat out if he so much as sneezes in her direction. It'd heal but explaining why Aro's toy had been broken would be a bother.

Expecting the usual pleas for death or mindless babble, she continues her mental probe of his emotions, ignoring him the best she can.

The man - the vampire thinks Aro called him something ridiculous like 'the Doctor' - has reached the foot of her chair and moves as if to reach for the edge of her robe. Quicker than thought, Felix has his hand arrested in mid motion. Likely, he's broken it. The Doctor doesn't seem to care. His wild eyes are only focused on hers.

'Please, please you have to stop.' He gasps.

'It'll be over in three days,' she comments, bored. Always the same. 'Theres no help for it. Nothing to do but try to survive. Begging is a waste of your breath. Best to save it for screaming.'

He's shaking his head before she finishes.

'No, in my head.' His free hand touches his temple. 'You. In here. You have to stop, please. I'm protecting you the best I can but, but I can't focus, can't hold it back if you don't stop. Please, don't. It will destroy you.'

With that, the man sinks to the floor, his sweat soak hair covering his anguished features. Felix let's his hand go and takes his place at her side.

This was different. Chelsea smiled and it didn't have anything to do with being pleased. So he could sense what she was doing? Aro had hinted the new comer was special but that was nothing new. He collected 'special' like rich trinkets to be put on display for the court. There had to be something to this thin whip of a man or he would have been fodder.

Despite the warning, Chelsea looks over the rest of his mind, the parts that aren't locked away by the pain and sighs. Nothing too complex, most of his thoughts centering on his young wife. Otherwise bare, basic emotions. Fuzzy, unclear, fickle and uselessly human.

But... For a second, so quick she isn't sure... there was 'something'. More of a sense than a true feeling... Like star light or...or... She searches for the thought but it's gone.

Rising from her chair, she moves to the door. 'Open it, Felix.'

There is a moment of silence.

'Beloved?' Came a familiar, out of place voice and suddenly arms wrap around her from behind.

Startled, Chelsea can smell her mate Afton's tears, feel his distress and knows something terrible has happened.

'Afton? Why are you here? What has happened?' Chelsea moves in his arms and faces him, her confused eyes looking for answers.

His red eyes are pain filled as he looks her over as if assuring himself she's ok.

'What is wrong my love?' Her voice is soft, worried. She allows him to tuck her small frame against his large body, as if he's trying to hide her away.

It takes him several seconds to collect himself enough to answer. 'I thought I was losing you. Why didn't you answer me? What did you sense in him that was so terrible?'

'Sense?' Chelsea repeated, incredulous. 'What ever are you talking about? Sense? From him? Nothing important and surely nothing distressing. Did Aro send you to check on me? Or has something happened?'

Now it's Afton's turn to look shocked. 'Do you not remember, love?' Before she can answer, he shakes his head and hugs her again. 'Please, I'll explain later, just please, let us leave this room. Aro will be here shortly. He said he will tend to the newcomer personally.'

'But-' Her protests are silenced by him practically carrying her from the room. On the way out, she sees the Doctor, huddled in the far corner of the room. His eyes look apologetic and very sad.

The pair move in to the hall, Chelsea resting her head on her mates chest as they walk. A breeze from a window washes over them - drawing her attention for the first time to the tears that cover her face and neck and even run to her chest. She's about to demand answers from her beloved when through the windows, she catches the sunset and gives pause.

It had been early noon when she first entered the room.

Chelsea has lost at least five hours and remembers nothing. Nothing but a slow, painful ache in her chest that feels like heartbreak.

~.~

' Life was easier before Eleazar ran off.' It was a wistful comment and one he decides not to answer, as the Doctor has no idea who Aro is talking about.

He knows a villain rant when he hears one and knows from experience villains love the sound of their own voice. His voice - not so much. So he listens and waits, hoping it will at least distract him from the pain.

'No guessing about possible talents, not with him around.' Aro continues. 'Recruiting was fast and none of the surprises like the one you pulled today with Chelsea.' He smiles over to him like an old friend sharing a joke. 'Her face when she realized a mere human had made her cry, had shown her something so terrible she can't even remember it, ha! Priceless.'

'Why am I still alive?' The question might be rhetorical and he mentally apologizes to Rose. 'You've seen my memories, what I'm capable of. Why take the risk of letting me live?' He really hopes the vampire can understand what he's saying. The fire is burning him alive. The feeling is a familiar one. Like regeneration drawn out for a thousand years without the Tardis whispering to him that it was going to be ok.

'The plan was never to kill you.' Aro answers, insulted. 'Why kill an ally? Besides, in all honesty, you're only half right - I did see 'your' memories - and only yours. How surprising that a man of your age has, at the most, two years of memories. Where, I wonder, are the others?'

Aro smiles widely, showing fangs and joyfully brings himself eye level with his captive.

'There was a woman a year ago, no one important. Part of a feeding party Heidi lured here. I can't seem to recall her name.

Aros waves his hand dismissively, 'I fed from her. Now, over the years, from time to time, we do stumble across a Torchwood agent and usually I rifle through their minds with about as much interest as you'd view a small child trying to tie their shoes but this one.. Oh what was her name!' The smile is his entire face now, red eyes dancing madly. 'Asian, beautiful, smart for a human - you must have known her because her mind was ripe with knowledge about you. The Doctor. The nameless god. The traveler from across worlds.'

So that was it then. He wasn't a random lucky grab off the streets. Someone must have tipped the Volturi off about the honeymoon or, and he really tries not to go there even in theory but wasn't it someone at the headquarters that suggested Italy?

'You've made a horrible mistake, I'm not who you think I am. Not really.'

'Have I? I think not. I know you better than you know yourself.'

' End this now, please. I can help you, help your kind. There is a way you can live side by side with humans.'

Aro laughed. 'And they say I'm mad!

' I've seen it,' the Doctor hurried on, 'countless times, in places further than you can dream. Humans living together with all manner of life - advancing, understanding.' The Doctor hit the floor with the flat of his palm, 'It doesn't have to be this way! Let me go, now! It's not too late.'

The vampire regarded him with eyes that were suddenly very sane. The age that shone through in that one look was sobering and for a second, a fraction of a second, the Doctor felt very...human.

'What you fail to understand is that you have seen nothing. Done nothing.' With each word Aro leaned in closer and closer to his face, until his words whispered along his feverish skin. 'You are a copy. A human with the memories of a god, nothing more. Not yet, anyway. I will take you, I will give you purpose and a place to belong. A family. You have been wasted.' His eyes traced along his face, hungry. 'You are meant for great things.'

'Let me go. There is time, I can fix this.' His resolve never wavers but the pain, oh the pain drains him and it's hard to get the conviction he needs to show in his failing words.

'I am fixing it.' Aro assures him. 'I was mortal for twenty-six years, compared to your two I believe I am the better study of human nature. I know what a human mind feels, what it thinks.' As quick as a blink, the smile is back and Aro is across the room, opening the steel door. 'Besides, if I'm wrong, I can deal with it later.'

The Doctor slumps back to the floor and tries to comfort himself with thoughts of Rose. But Aro isn't done yet. 'We aren't the bad guys you wish so badly to paint us as.'

The Doctor doesn't have the strength to lift his head. His grip on the pain is gone and it is eating him away.

'There is good here and there are those of us worth fighting for. For countless years we Volturi have saved millions by policing the impossible and bringing peace. We took up the job no one wanted because some one had to and it made us righteous nightmares. You and I - we are very alike.'

The Doctor objects but stops when he realizes the conversation ended a long time ago. Nine hours gone, lost to rolling black outs and fevered dreams. He can feel the changes in him - a hum of hunger that beats in time with the pain. An echo of the heart he's missing. He can't stop it now, he knows that. Part of him was always wired for change, ready for regeneration and this isn't so unlike it. The Time lord genetics are willing and wanting - eager to escape the decay his human side weighted it with. Greedy, selfish thing that it is.

He thinks of many things and mourns them all but none so strongly as the wife he may never see again and his very short, very human life.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N – I'm back! Sorry for the delay on this. Thank you, as always, for the kind reviews and follows.

~.~

The wide paths in the park are lined with massive trees. Each thick trunk curves to the east, growing with the constant winds off the coast. Open spaces of green grass are trimmed in cobblestone and the entire place smells of ocean and flowers and age.

It's well kept, almost lovingly maintained and a voice in him explains it's a hobby of the Wives but he's not sure to whom its refereeing or why he feels 'Wives' should be capitalized as if a title and spoke about in soft whispers.

It's the dead of night but the massive forest of a front yard is stirring. A handful of Volturi Guards encircle the carriage carrying him. The strict order from Aro has kept him isolated.

Chelsea never came back to the small marble room. He's a little fearful of what might have leaked through his no longer solid mental shields. If he had still been a Time Lord, the vortex of his mind would have devoured her entire.

As it is, he guesses she likely jumps at shadows and is positive she has gained a fear of the dark.

It's been two days and twenty-three hours and it's all about to end.

They lead him indoors, a procession he takes part in numbly. The pain isn't so overwhelming anymore. By that, he means it's only just shy of driving him insane but hey, at least he's not blacking out anymore. Now is the time to slowly start recollecting himself. Once the pain isn't so insistent, he's going to get his answers. So help him.

The throne room is much the same as he remembers it. Same three dark thrones. The manic blonde is glaring at him, the depressed brunette doesn't spare him a glance and Aro is positively gleaming.

'How exciting it is!' Aro clapped dryly, a few sharp snaps in the otherwise silent room. 'A new member joins us tonight.'

The vampires in the room shift nervously at the announcement. A few share whispers behind gloved hands, others watch the new comer with contempt, likely wondering where he will come in to play in the power structure.

A small group stands to the side right by the dais. They glance at him once but don't spare him a second thought. In that group, he picks out two small children, dressed in black. He knows them, the angels from before. They sip from wine glasses filled with blood, smiling to each other with pale skin and red eyes.

Aro smiles, "Usually, we welcome our brothers home with a warm meal." He motions off to the side of his chair where a tall blonde is waiting.

"But as not to offend the sensitivity of our newest member, I ordered take out instead. Of course if I'm wrong, feel free to indulge on this lovely beauty." The blonde woman comes forward and the Doctors stomach lurches. He won't. He'll do something drastic first. He will not harm her. This is his non negotiable.

Those watching in the room edge closer, vying for the best view. The whispers stop, no one wants to miss the next part. The Doctor can almost taste their hunger and excitement. Apparently the spectacle of watching a new vampire tearing apart a helpless human in their newborn hunger is a form of high entertainment.

How terribly they have miscalculated what kind of man the Doctor is seems almost tragic - for them.

The blonde moves towards him. She is a young thing with pale firm skin, her massive curls of hair tucked in a tight bun atop her head. The black dress she is in dips scandalously low, holding back very little to the imagination. She offers her hand. The Doctor is about to resort to the 'drastic' part when he realizes she's not offering her flesh. She's holding a bag of blood, the kind from a hospital or blood bank.

The Doctor stares at it and there's that dizzy feeling of the world spinning beneath him, only it's not the world entire - its the here and now.

Him and the bag o' blood spinning away through the past. It gives up its history like an eager lover.

It's a hospital. A young man, Tony, twenty-seven, turning his head away as a nurse sinks a needle in to the bend of his arm. The man has reasons for donating and they flutter around like sugar bees but the Doctor ignores them. That tube of blood is a strong focal point and he watches as it passes from hospital center out the back door to a waiting van. From there, quick snap shoots of several illegal but streamlined processes and - here it is. A timeline crossing his own, a dance partner waiting for him to join.

No Time Lord views time like this. They can sense timelines, understand the wafting difference between fixed and flexing points – highly trained ones can pinpoint the exact moment of where events can be manipulated. Even dense Time Lords are aware of time, like knowing which direction the sun is when it's shining on your face.

But not this, this is wrong. This is seeing, actually seeing past and present twirl around like a motion picture.

The Doctors knows he must have grabbed that bag and tore it open because his mouth is full. The blood is rich, warm, inviting, complex and complete. A lost part of him has been returned - nothing has ever felt so right. It's over far too quickly, the bag drained. He feels better than he ever has. Gitty and high and part of him could chase that forever. Part of him watches, shakes his head and leaves, probably forever.

The room is silent, the shadows watching and waiting. There's no applause, no collective sigh of relief or disappointment that he opted for the bag instead of the blonde. Only Aro clapping, sardonically. 'We usually welcome our brothers home with a warm meal-'

The Doctor comes to his senses with the truly shocking realization that he hasn't drunk the blood yet. He hasn't even been offered it yet. His mouth feels dry, he's lightheaded with hunger now.

Aro motions towards the blonde and forward she comes.

The Doctor has his second nasty shock - he's going to say yes, he's going to take the blood. The will power he may have had to refuse has been evaporated by blood he hasn't tasted yet.

There's a dizzy moment when he plays out the fun question of;' am I saying yes because I knew before hand that I say yes in the end or because I always would have?'

Worse yet, what he saw, that future, him drinking the blood, it's a fixed point. A huge, unalterable event is coming. It will shatter worlds, decide the fate of all or a few or maybe just him but whatever the cataclysm is, it all starts here. Right here, right now, with him drinking the blood and he can't say no.

Aro watches him, the insane eyes intense.

After the bag is empty, tasting better than he knew it would, the Doctor feels the last few minutes of him human life fade. Three days on the dot.

The crowd of vampires disperse in silence, shadows retreating back to whatever dark pleasures they have planned for the evening. They are sorely disappointed and confused that he didn't tear the blonde's throat out.

He doesn't move, doesn't look up. He considers the empty bag in his hand until no one is left except for him and Aro.

"They'll take that as a sign of weakness, you know. That you are defective because no newborn vampire has that kind of control."

"You knew I wouldn't hurt her."

"I guessed. I didn't know what you'd do. Either kill her or not drink at all and force me to kill you. I hoped the," he rolled his eyes in distaste, "bag would be a compromise suitable to you."

The Doctor raises his head to meet Aro's gaze. "You've seen my memories. You know what I am, what I'm capable of. I **burned** an entire race to save humanity and you place all that knowledge against a 'guess' that I won't kill an innocent? Why? Why test it? Why turn me? What are you playing at?"

"The destroyer of worlds' you were named." Aro's tone is even, low very, very careful, lacking the insanity it had a moment before. "I've seen what lengths you'd go to for the sake of saving humans, what price you'd pay to save earth. I'm betting on it, in fact."

That isn't the answer he had been counting on. He's heard villain monologues before and Aro was getting his part all wrong. He should have been counting on the Doctor's weakness as a human turned vampire, should have thought that his blood lust and guilt that followed would be enough to blackmail him in to service.

He was missing something. Something big, glaring at him, right there, staring him down. Was the vampire that insane? Too insane? Too old? Did he want the promise of death he had unleashed by bringing the Doctor in to his dark little world? He couldn't piece it out.

"Do you have my wife?" He ventured. A kidnapping, holding her here, threatening her, that could work.

Aro chuckled. There was no amusement to it and he seemed every day his age in that dry, joyless sound. "I have not touched her. I don't plan on it. I don't need to."

"Let me make something perfectly clear – You have made a grievous mistake. A deadly miscalculation about me, of what I'm capable of."

"I might have." The old vampire consented. "I sorely hope not. I told you before that I am the necessary evil. You're too young to understand the scope of that, of the lengths I've gone to in order to make sure your beloved humans carry on in with their short, pathetic lives. You are the one mistaken if you think I brought you in to this out of ignorance or arrogance or insanity."

"Why! Why do it then? I will not join you. I stand against everything you are it repeals me on every level. I fully plan on sucking on garlic or walking in to the sun the first chance I get." Lie, that was. What he really planned on doing was getting back to his Rose and working with her to find a cure for this disease. Better that the crazy master vampire didn't know that particular part of his plan.

"You won't."

"Ok you're really starting to annoy me now." The Doctor raked a hand through his messy hair, catching a glimpse for the first time of how pale his skin had gone. Considering he was never tan to begin with, he looked like he was glowing in the soft light of the room. It was distracting watching the tiny veins pulsing against the back of his hand, to see every tiny hair, every small scar that he didn't remember getting.

Five minutes later, he had mapped out each little flesh landmark and marveled at the complexity of his skin structure, only then realizing he had been in the middle of a terribly important conversation. Oh this new focus was going to be a horrible pain.

Aro seemed to understand and waited until the Doctor looked away from his hand before continuing. "I'm not a fool. I have seen things in my time that would rival your own remembered history. I have fed from great men and viewed the vast potential of humanity and I have fled from that knowledge because I have seen the pettiness and hate in their minds. Over the centuries, I have either turned or killed or crippled the best this world has to offer because I cannot escape the truth that they would destroy us, if they knew of us and everything I am and everything I have done has been to protect the nightmares. So understand this, _Doctor_."

The ancient vampire rose from his throne. One second standing across the room, the next he was in front of the Doctor, eyes filled with a terrible weight.

"You are young, very very young, regardless of your memories and I know a thing or two about living through someone else's memories. You were very, very human not more than a week ago. I could have torn you limb from limb and I still could. You present the single greatest threat to my kind since our beginning and yet here you are – I have given you eternal youth, immortality and I have done it **all** knowing you could turn around and destroy us. The question is - why would I do such a thing?"

The Doctor didn't step back. He didn't take threats well but this wasn't a threat. It was a warning, a hint, and he wasn't sure any of it was a bluff. He didn't know the strength of his new body. There was no plan of escaping, not yet and oh he was very, very good at waiting for the perfect moment. So he'd play along, for now, sort of.

The silence dragged on and on past the expected response time. Jerking to himself as if he had forgotten the insane menace standing in front of him, the Doctor smiled sarcastically. "Oh right! Right, so this the part when I ask, why?"

Aro smiled, his sanity retreating back to the depths. "Why, because it's almost Christmas."

~.~


End file.
